


Welcome To Smallville

by twriting



Series: Learning To Fly [2]
Category: DCU (Comics), Superboy (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Bronze Age, F/F, F/F is mostly just Lana crushing on Cantrell, Female Clark Kent, Silver Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-10-29 22:34:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20804075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twriting/pseuds/twriting
Summary: Four encounters between the newcomers to Smallville.





	1. Cantrell And Lana

The little house on the corner of Maple is empty through Spring and most of Summer, and Lana Lang starts to feel that it will be empty forever.

"He's asking too much," her mother Sarah says. "And that basement is ridiculous."

The narrow two-story house is a muted red with white trim, and Lana hears the agent call it 'neo-victorian'. Lana very much likes the house and hopes whoever buys it suits the place. The one part of the house that doesn't really fit the neo-victorian style is the long ramped driveway alongside it, running down to the underground garage. The ramp takes up a major piece of the lot's frontage and runs between that house and the Langs at 325 like a moat. According to the realtor's listing the basement is half again as long as the entire house, with underground parking, a finished basement, wine cellar, and atelier. Lana looks it up and atelier just seems to be realtor talk for workshop. The millionaire from Wilmington who had the place built as a getaway likes woodworking.

In late Summer her mother looks out the the front door window and says "That's Mark Clark. From Harrington."

Lana looks out and sees a black Acura in front of the house next door. Standing next to it is a White man with greying hair and dark business-casual clothes. Lana has met him once, and exchanged perhaps a half-dozen words with him. Watching Sarah Lang watching him, Lana thinks her mother's expression looks like a cat eyeing a bird. He waves to someone at the front of 321 and disappears from sight as he walks up to the house.

Two days later as Lana is coming home from shopping she sees a sold sign.

"His sister is moving back from Iowa," Lana's mother says. "According to Sally Bashford, she divorced her farm boy."

Lana takes that with a grain of salt. Brad's mother is not a reliable source.

* * *

The first moving truck is the largest and appears on a cool day in early August, and when Lana returns from picking up a parcel Mark Clark from Harrington is supervising the movers.

* * *

The next day Lana is home alone, wrapped in a throw and sipping a chai soy milk latte to fight the chill of a prematurely Fall-ish wet day. The little office at the front of the house is her space, and Lana has decorated it in soft neutrals brightened up with colourful figurines and green and blue fabrics. Lana is curled up in her oversized chair, the one she calls her nest, placed where it is easy for her to keep an eye on the comings and goings on Maple Street. Lana is deep in Mirai no Mirai and does not see the second truck arrive. The doorbell rings. Looking out the front window she sees a girl in a faded red cowboy hat on the Lang porch. There is a small moving truck parked in front of 321. She gets up to greet the new people.

"Hi, Cantrell Kent." The girl at the door smiles and takes off her hat, setting free waves of raven-black hair. Behind a pair of ugly tortoiseshell glasses her eyes are an amazing brilliant blue. Her skin is flawless, a light olive tone, and the contrast between her complexion and eyes is _stunning_. Her jaw is strong with a slight cleft in the chin. "We're your new neighbours."

"Lana Lang. It's lovely to meet you." Lana shakes Cantrell's outstretched hand and finds herself smiling back. The new girl's smile is catching. Lana notes that Cantrell is dressed in worn work jeans, an oversized blue t-shirt, and a shapeless red and white flannel shirt, yet still obviously has a wonderful figure. She's at least six inches taller than Lana's 5'2" (and a bit, thank you), and even taller in her boots, and her handshake is warm and firm. Her nails are short, in contrast to Lana's stilettos.

"Are those ropers _vintage?_" Lana looks down her new neighbour's long legs to her western-style red ankle bootees.

"No, but I have a couple pairs that are." Lana can't get over how Cantrell Kent's voice twangs like a country song.

"I'd love to see them sometime." She can't get over how _bright_ Cantrell's eyes are.

"I'd love to show you. Uh, anyway, sorry to bother you, but my folks were wondering if you could move your car for a few minutes. Um, pardon me..." Cantrell extracts her hand from Lana's grip.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's alright. Anyway, we need to back the truck down the ramp. It'd be easier if your car was back a bit."

"I'm so sorry, but my mother isn't in right now, and she has the keys."

Cantrell smiles. "That's fine. We'll get her in there."

This new girl is _so country_. Those worn jeans can't be warm but she doesn't seem to notice the weather. Lana watches Cantrell walk away and thinks that she and the new neighbour could be friends. That would be nice.

Despite the chill Lana decides her blue floral paisley pajamas and mint green houserobe are good enough. She pulls on a pair of flip-flops so she can watch from her porch. Cantrell is up on the truck's passenger-side runner, talking to someone in the cab. She hops down from the cab and a man gets out from the passenger's side. He is lean and fit-looking, about the same height as Cantrell, and dressed similarly except for dark work boots and a ballcap. His shirt sleeves are rolled up a bit, revealing a fitness tracker on his left arm. His hair is stark white but otherwise he appears to be in his fifties. He waves to Lana and smiles exactly the way Cantrell did. His voice twangs the same way as hers. "Hi, Ms Lang. Jonathan Kent. You've met my daughter Cantrell, and this - " he gestures to a woman coming around the truck. "Is my wife Martha. She's from around here originally. The Clark family."

And that's that for the divorce rumours. Mrs Martha Kent has more colour in her hair than her husband, is about three inches shorter than him, wears neutral-coloured chore clothes, and keeps the rain from her face with a straw hat. Her clothes are obviously chosen for comfort and practicality, but her sweater highlights her eyes and every piece of her outfit matches. Her eyes are quick as she takes in Lana with a glance, and her voice is cheerful. "Hello, young lady."

"Hello Mrs Kent. Welcome back to Smallville."

Even if she's not as fast with it she has the same smile as her husband and daughter. "Thank you. But you can call us Martha and Jonathan."

Just from looking at her parents it's obvious Cantrell Kent is adopted. It's just as obvious from watching them that she is very much like her parents.

Cantrell and Jonathan want to get the truck off the street. They estimate there is just enough clearance at the sides to get it down the ramp, but aren't sure the awning is high enough to back all the way down. Martha shakes her head a bit and smiles at Lana. "That pair. Everything's got to be put away right away and in the right place. I don't know how they're going to get by now that we don't have a barn. All right, you two work out how you're going to do this. I'll offer moral support from the porch."

Cantrell and Jonathan stand together in the slow rain, about halfway down the ramp, while Martha watches from her new porch. They both stand with fists on hips and elbows out as they eyeball the covering that protects the bottom of the ramp from rain and snow. "Yeah," says Cantrell. "It looks like Mark measured to the top of the awning, not the front lip. The truck's too high."

"That's fine, we just need to get it most of the way down to clear the sidewalk."

Jonathan swings the truck's mirrors in and climbs back in the cab and Cantrell goes down the ramp to give her father instructions by phone. As far as Lana can see the truck makes it into the ramp by tight inches on either side. Jonathan backs the truck slowly but steadily down the ramp, until Lana is certain he is about to ram the awning. It stops so suddenly it seems as if he has hit something, but the back of the truck is two inches short of the awning. Lana hears Cantrell yell _You're good!_

Jonathan Kent climbs through the hatch in the back of the cab to get out. Lana can hear muffled noises as his daughter helps him. Thinking about their postures and clothes and how well they work together, Lana decides Cantrell is probably both a tomboy and a bit of a daddy's girl.

"Hey Lana," Cantrell's calls out from the bottom of the ramp. "Do you want to see our place?"

"I don't want to be a bother, but if it's all right with your parents, I'd love to." With the truck backed up she can just see Martha Kent over the cab.

"We'd love to show you," Martha tells Lana. "But after lunch, Cantrell. Some of us need to eat. Speaking of, Lana, you eat yet?"

"You've had a busy day. You go eat, I can see your place later. I really _don't_ want to be a bother."

"You won't be," Martha assures her. "We could use a local guide. When Jonathan and I checked this house out I looked in at the places around the corner. I swear they haven't been cleaned since I lived here. And Cantrell will want someone her age to talk to."

The restaurants on the north side of Walnut Street sell alcohol, grease, and caffeine to college kids, and are deliberately grimy to let the students feel like they're somewhere cooler than Smallville. Lana would rather eat _bugs_ from the college's experimental fields on the south of Walnut than anything from those places. And Cantrell will be there.

"I'll call my mother and let her know. And I'll pay for my own food, of course."

Cantrell comes out of their house. "Great!" She glances over towards her mother. "Uh, half the reason mom and dad moved us here was so I could be around more kids. So, y'know, thanks."

Lana looks over Cantrell's tops, thinking fast. "Will you be wearing that?"

"Uh, yeah? Is that okay?"

"It's _good_," Lana says. This is the first time she's ever had to match her look to _country tomboy_ and it is challenging her clothes sense a bit. She decides on a dress to match that flannel shirt. "Give me ten minutes. And don't change."

Lana finds her red dress with the white polka dots and layers it under a soft blue cardigan that makes her complexion pop. A headband that matches the cardigan takes care of her hair, and the silver earrings she is already wearing will do for jewellery. She has enough time to fix her lipstick but leaves the rest of her makeup as-is. It's not terribly cold so she just tosses on her grey knit coat, and she doesn't want to make anyone wait so she goes with the _boring_ choice of the matching grey boots and purse. Wishing she has time to really make the outfit she checks twice to be certain she has her phone and wallet, texts her mother, grabs the transparent Hello Kitty umbrella that doesn't really go with anything but it's the only one left, and rushes out the door. The watch she chose matches her earrings but the face is too small to read easily so she looks at her phone as she locks up; Six minutes from closet to door. The look is a bit plain and she's not satisfied with the accessories but it's good enough for a quick bite.

"That's a pretty dress," Cantrell says. Lana beams. It's nice that someone appreciates her efforts.

The closest place for actual food is Mike's Burgers, three blocks north on the corner of Jefferson Avenue and Main Street, and the Kents agree they'd rather try Mike's than anywhere on Walnut. The drizzle is now no worse than a heavy mist. After the older Kents insist they're both fine, Lana tries to share her umbrella with Cantrell. Cantrell is too tall so she holds it to cover a bit of herself and mostly Lana. Lana fusses about Cantrell's hair getting wet. "It's okay, really. That's what the hat is for. And I'm not cold."

"Aren't you worried someone will steal the truck?"

"I tied down the rear axle and wheels with three-quarter inch chain while you were changing. And I barred the steering wheel and locked blocks under the back tires. No one's stealing that truck without industrial tools."

"How did you do all that so _quickly_? And without getting dirty?"

"Oh. It's - Not hard when you know what you're doing."

Lana notes that the Kents are watching her and Cantrell, and that they seem a bit amused. Lana's not sure why, and worries that she may have been too forward joining them for lunch. She considers finding an excuse to bow out, but decides against it. They did say it was no bother, and Cantrell did say she wanted to meet people. Squeezing closer under the umbrella to get the edge of her sleeve out of the rain, Lana decides to stay even if the Kents do have crinkles around their eyes as they trade glances.

"Well here's Mark," Martha says as they come around the corner of Main Street. Cantrell stiffens a bit. Mark Clark of Harrington is standing under the awning of Mike's Burgers. As they come closer Lana can see the relation between Martha and her older brother in their complexions and the shapes of their brows and noses. His face shows obvious signs of retinoid use compared to his neck and hands, his hair is carefully dyed to show just enough distinguished grey, and Lana estimates he's at least ten years older than his fifty-something sister. He is wearing a charcoal suit with a blue shirt and blue and white checked tie and the blues are just a bit too strong for his complexion. His overcoat is the wrong black for his suit, but this weather took Smallville by surprise so perhaps he didn't have a chance to choose a better one.

Mark hugs his sister briefly. "Martha, Jon, so good to see you. You're hours earlier than I expected."

"Highway traffic was easy," Jonathan says, while Lana remembers that he and Martha both seemed to be quite specific about Jonathan in his introduction earlier. Perhaps it's a family nickname.

"I was in the area when I got your text. I don't have a lot of time, but I had to say hello. And it's wonderful to have you back, Martha. It's been so long."

"Thank you, Mark. It's been a while, but some things haven't changed at all."

Mark grips his sister's hand and smiles warmly. Lana notes a bit of _tension_ in Martha's smile and wonders if she should really be here for this.

"Hello Lana. You've grown so much since the last time I saw you." He has not acknowledged his niece.

"Thank you, Mr Clark." Last time was two months ago, when they were introduced briefly by her mother's friend. Since then Lana has grown a third of an inch.

"I see you've met my sister Martha, and her husband Jon. This is their adopted daughter Cantrell."

"Oh yes, we've all met." On _adopted_ Martha's smile becomes just a bit more tense. Lana takes hold of Cantrell's steel-girder arm.

"I'm sorry I can't talk more, but I've got to go now. I hope your unpacking goes well. Kathy and I are looking forward to dinner tomorrow."

"Looking forward to it," Jonathan says, and Lana thinks he almost sounds like he means it. "Cantrell won't be able to make it, she needs to start hitting her textbooks before school starts. But tell Kathy we packed some of Martha's lace cookies for her. And Mark, thanks again for all your help. We couldn't've done it without you."

The adults shake hands and Mark Clark complements Lana on her cat umbrella and after they have parted Jonathan shakes his head. "Martha, I've said it before..." He glances over at Lana. "And I'll say it again when we're back at the house. Sorry, Lana."

"My brother is a jackass. I can see Lana's figured that out already."

Cantrell snorts. Lana feels the taller girl's arm slowly relax. While Mark had been talking, Cantrell's muscles were as soft as the sidewalk Lana broke her wrist on when she was nine.

Hoping to distract her, Lana tries to pull Cantrell towards the restaurant door. She has about as much success as a chihuahua trying to uproot a stop sign. Cantrell isn't big but she is _solid_. "Oh, sorry Lana. I guess, I uh, was kinda pulling against you. Let's go inside, mom and dad. I think Lana's cold."

Mike's is a retro-joint with a Norman Rockwell theme and a menu that consists of meat on buns, eggs on buns, chili on buns, meat and eggs and chili on buns, and coleslaw. All the appropriate cheeses, sauces, pickles, peppers, and potato or corn sides are available. Recently Mike's has added a fried patty of legume-products so heavily processed it might as well be lard, listed alongside the shaped chicken-pulp bits under _Healthy Choices_. For dessert there are choices of ice cream, pie, deep-fried ice cream, deep-fried pie, or candied apple slices with dipping cups of frosting.

No adult Lana knows will admit to eating at Mike's, but even at midafternoon on a rainy weekday the place is a quarter full.

Lana orders a half cheesesteak with Mike's Own hot sauce and a bottled water. Mike's Own is blatantly Geno's with the labels peeled off and Lana wonders if hometown loyalty requires her to _drop a dime_ on Mike. But Mike's has a good extra sharp provolone and the onions are fresh and properly caramelized, so Lana decides to look the other way. Cantrell gets a children's cheeseburger, an order of fries that she shares with Lana, and a small milk. "This'll be enough for me," she says. "We stopped at a Big Belly Burger in Denton. I couldn't even finish my drizzle doodle."

Cantrell's mom orders a regular burger combo. Her father orders a children's burger, ketchup, mustard, pickles and tomatoes, no sauce. He eats a few of Martha's fries, gets his hand chased away by Cantrell when he goes after hers, and makes a note of his meal on his phone. He orders a bottled water as well.

Lana Lang and Cantrell Kent compare growing up with alliterative names. "I'm named after my grandmother's family. Dad's mom, Joanne Cantrell Kent. Mom and dad flipped her names around, so I'm Cantrell Joanne Kent."

"Lana is Irish for 'child'. My parents liked the way it sounds."

The Kents are from Kansas, not Iowa. Near Greenwood and Elk Falls. "You've never heard of it," Cantrell says. "Even people who live in Elk Falls have never heard of it. We're near the Oklahoma border."

"I _have_ heard of Elk Falls. It's near the Osage and Kawatche nations. My father is an archaeologist. He specializes in Great Plains cultures, so he's been out there. I never have though."

They moved to Smallville because they wanted Cantrell to meet more kids her age, Martha's brother was looking to sell the Clark Dollar Store & Discount Grocery location on Oak Street, and the older Kents figured that after more than two decades of farming it was time for a change. "And I got sick of seeing fools fly that damn flag," Jonathan grumbles. "More and more every year."

Lana's mother is an accountant and works for the community college. Her father is a professor at UPenn and goes to a lot of conferences. Lana's mother wants her to go into business or finance, her father thinks she should study art history or something similar.

"What about you?" Jonathan Kent asks.

"Well. I think I'd like to be a designer, maybe?"

Martha Kent nods. "It's a lot of work, but it seems like it would suit you."

The conversation shifts to Smallville and Lana has to admit she doesn't know the town all that well. She and her mother only moved here about a year ago, and Lana still misses Philadelphia. Lana lives in Smallville's Old Purchase, finished grade eight in Smallville North Middle School, and sometimes goes to the new shopping centre in North Smallville. She has never been past First Avenue in West Smallville. "None of mom's friends have kids my age. I haven't really met _anyone_ outside of school yet. "

"How about your uncle or his friends?" Martha dips a fry in ketchup. "Do they have any kids?"

"No. Uncle Finn is nine years older than mom, and he teaches at the college. Other than his students I think mom is the youngest person he knows. Oh, I _do_ hang out with Chloe sometimes."

"Chloe?" Asks Cantrell.

"Chloe Sullivan. We were in grade eight together. She's Uncle Finn's wife's cousin. Which I _suppose_ makes us cousins-in-law, a bit? I'll introduce you to her."

"Great! I'm making friends before school even starts. Told you I could do it." Cantrell grins and aims that last remark at her parents. Then she looks back at Lana beside her. "You're my first friend in Smallville. I'm glad we live next door to each other. I'm still eating those last fries though."

Lana giggles and hugs Cantrell's arm. The Kents are nice. Cantrell is nice. Lana is having fun. She doesn't want to go home.

* * *

Her mother is home when Lana returns with the Kents. Martha sends her husband and Cantrell to their house to start unpacking. She comes over with Lana to greet Sarah Lang at her door. Lana's mother greets Martha briefly.

"I hope you weren't bothering them. You should have called, not just texted."

"She was no trouble at all," Martha says. "And she was very helpful. It was a pleasure to meet her, Ms Lang."

"Thank you, it's a pleasure to meet you too. But I prefer Mrs."

"I do too, personally. I'd like to say thank you for your daughter showing us around earlier. And I have to say, she's a very bright young lady. Lana is always welcome at our home, Mrs Lang."

* * *

The provolone from her cheesesteak is irritating her gut. Lana hopes her mother leaves her alone soon so she can deal with it.

"I hope you remember not to be a bother. And don't annoy their daughter too much."

"Yes, mom." Her mother doesn't want Lana bothering people.

"You know if you're not happy in Smallville, you can go live with your father."

"Yes mom." Her father doesn't want Lana bothering him.

"And try to make some friends at school this year."

"Yes." Other girls bother Lana.

* * *

Some people keep a journal. Lana backfills her daily agenda with a quick sketch of events, times, and places, and who attended and for how long. The details go in her journal, including who wore what, snippets of the conversation, personal observations, and small mementos. She wishes she had thought to take pictures at lunch today. She likes to print out the best ones and include them in her journal.

There are three bedrooms on the second floor of the Lang house. Lana has the smaller of the two secondary bedrooms, but unlike the guestroom hers includes a walk-in closet. She keeps everything important in the closet. Most of her stuffed animals are there, her wardrobe, and her journals and mementos. In her room she has a small vanity, study desk, bed, and cabinet with her nicer glass and ceramic figurines. The walls of Lana's bedroom are decorated with pictures of J-Pop and K-Pop bands. Lana can recite the name, age, height, weight, career length, and number of hits of each girl pictured.

Lana's window is on the side of the house facing the Kents. But the windows of the Kent house are at the back. And the top floor of the Lang house doesn't extend as far as their neighbour's. Lana still opens the window.

The noise drifting through the backyard isn't too loud, and after a year Lana is used to the blend of music and voices from the businesses across the alley. She can't tell if there are any new sounds in the mix or not.

Lana closes her window and turns out her light for the night.

* * *

Everything seems to have fallen apart since she made Kaitlyn's parents mad at her in sixth grade. Lana's not sure what she did but she won't do it again, mom. Can they go home back to Philadelphia now?


	2. Cantrell And Kala

Martha closes the door to her new house behind her.

"So how's the new neighbour?" Cantrell asks.

"I told Mrs Lang - "

"Hm," mutters Jonathan.

"No, I like her just fine. I told her Lana is always welcome at our home. But be careful around her, Cantrell. She pays attention and she's sharp enough to cut yourself on."

Martha looks around at the boxes in the new living room. The boxes hold kitchenware, living supplies, personal luggage and similar items, a few pieces of sentimental furniture from home, and other pieces delivered from a big-box store to replace things not worth the effort of hauling halfway across the country. There are only a few boxes left in the truck. Cantrell has already moved her rocket into the underground garage.

"Are you sure you're all right unpacking all this on your own, honey?"

"No problem. First I want to lock up my rocket in the workroom. That'll be a lot safer than the old shed was. After that it won't take long to get everything else unboxed and in the right rooms. Then it'll be easy for you and dad to finish up. Oh, dad, thanks for telling Mark I won't be there."

"We're not going to make you sit through a couple of hours of being ignored," Martha tells her daughter.

"He did a lot for us," Jonathan says. "I am grateful for all his help. But Martha, if your brother keeps on like that I'm going to fake a heart attack before dessert."

"We'll have one dinner together," Martha says. "We'll give them the cookies and presents and say thank you, and then he can go back to pretending his weird little sister and her family don't exist."

* * *

They measured carefully when they bought the place. Cantrell's wrapped and boxed rocket will just fit through the doors of the workshop. While she's distracted in the basement her parents have a quick conversation in their new bedroom.

"The Lang girl looks like Emma Daniels, a bit." The Kents have noticed that Cantrell has definite types, whether she knows it yet or not. Dark-haired boys and bright-haired girls. They're fairly sure she hasn't noticed yet she has that last type, but it's not like she's subtle.

"She has a bit of her attitude, too. Cantrell likes them with an edge. I'll need to have a talk with her about that someday." And none of those types have been exactly nice or safe. The no-boundaries girl next door fits right in.

"Sooner rather than later, by the looks of it."

"She's the type who likes to play with fire. It'll do her good to get her fingers burnt while she's young."

* * *

A sound like a tree splintering snaps Martha and Jonathan out of sleep.

"What - ?" Jonathan pushes himself up in bed. He looks around, blinking, to orient himself. While he yanks off his CPAP mask Martha is already up and heading for the - She turns herself around in their new room and heads for the door. Martha calls for Cantrell. She opens the bedroom door and finds Cantrell in the landing between their rooms.

Cantrell's eyes are wide and she is leaning on the frame of the bathroom door. There are splinters in her hair and t-shirt. She looks at her mother. "Out of range."

Jonathan stands beside his wife and reaches for his daughter, Martha opens her mouth to ask what is wrong, and then Cantrell pushes herself off the doorframe and stumbles at the top step in her unfamiliar new home.

The hollow sounds of Cantrell's head hitting the steps on her way down to the middle landing make makes Martha feel sick. Jonathan flinches and sucks in air through his teeth. They start towards the stairs and then stop each other as Cantrell raises her head. "It was out of range. Mom, dad, it was out of range."

Martha walks slowly down the stairs, Jonathan behind her, taking great care not to stumble in their fear. Cantrell seems unhurt, thank God, and rises to her feet. "I hear it," she says. There is a blur and a snap of air and she is gone.

"Cantrell wait!" She could be miles away by now, but Martha hears her stumbling in the kitchen. "Be careful," Martha calls out.

They find her in the nook between kitchen and living room, at the doorway to the basement. She is moving at a normal speed again and does not destroy the door as she opens it. "It was out of range, it couldn't see." Cantrell walks down the stairs a little too quickly, denting the wood of the door frame with her shoulder.

Jonathan and Martha fumble for the lights at the door. Martha finally finds the panel and turns on the basement lights. They hear the sounds of heavy cardboard being shredded. Down stairs they find Cantrell in the workroom, knee-deep in cardboard, packing peanuts, and paper. The front of her rocketship gleams red gold and blue in the harsh OLED lights.

"It's my lifeboat, you were right it's my lifeboat. But it was out of range. The shed was too far."

Cantrell Joanne Kent places her hand on the shining glyph at the base of the hatch and for the first time in more than a decade that hatch opens. The ship cries out in joy.

"_Haelaela! Kala Jor-El, faon ma Jor-El pha Lara-Lar-Van-laom-El, haela! Rao ha! Krypton ha! Ededro ha! Kala Jor-El haela!_"

* * *

Martha takes the stairs carefully, minding her step as she walks down to the basement. She is carrying a tray with three cups of hot chocolate and some cookies. Cantrell is sitting on the bottom of the stairs, gazing wide-eyed at her rocketship as her father crouches in front of her and picks splintered particleboard out of her hair.

"Looks like she demolished her desk when she got out of bed," Jonathan says as Martha sits next to Cantrell.

"_Martha-Clark-laom-Kent! Haelaela!_"

"Haylayla, ship." Honestly, the ship reminds Martha of a Golden Retriever; Very eager but possibly not very bright. Martha pushes one of the mugs into Cantrell's hands.

"Thank you mom." Cantrell does not take her eyes off her ship. "I'm sorry about the desk.

"I think it was a little bit broken. My ship, not my desk. But it's... Healing? Repairing? You took me away from it - You were supposed to. It needed someone to take care of me. You took me away from it and hid it in the junk shed with all the junk. And you didn't bring me back until I turned fourteen, and it didn't recognize me. It was too far away to watch me grow up. But then we moved, and it was just a couple of yards away the whole trip. It knows me now."

"And it talks," says Jonathan. He is still gently fussing with his daughter's hair, calming them both.

"It's trying to tell me." Cantrell looks confused and frightened and so young that it makes Martha's heart hurt. Balancing the tray on her lap Martha leans closer to her daughter.

"Krypton died. I don't know what that is but it's dead. My family is dead. I'm the only one left."

* * *

Krypton dies. Jonathan watches the images given by Jor-El and Lara as a world wastes its final days in fear and betrayal. Political extortion and attempted coups, lies from the ruling councils, confusion among the people as the quakes and eruptions grow worse. A handful of people willing to face what is happening make plans to salvage what they can. The councils send agents to stop them, to lock down dissent and prevent panic from spreading through the population.

Krypton dies. Jonathan Kent watches the recordings made by the ship as it fled the death of billions. He can't put words to what he feels as he watches a world's mantle explode through its crust like a shotgun blast tearing through clay. Dread is the only sense Jonathan can name. The death of a world is too distant and too big for anything more solid than that.

Krypton dies. Its poisoned heart shines emerald through shattered earth and billions of charred corpses.

_My daughter survived_. Jonathan shuts down the images. He wishes he could tell Jor-El and Lara that their daughter has made it, that even without her abilities she is a wonder. The life of one child is not enough to balance the deaths of millions of others, but it would be comfort for her parents.

* * *

"You didn't seem surprised when Ship called me Kala."

"We weren't. Martha and me figured years ago that was your birth-name."

"Oh. So, um, I like Cantrell, but..."

"Everyone knew we found you same night as the meteor shower. We wanted you to have a local name, to help blend in."

"I like being Cantrell. I don't know anything about being Kala Jor-El."

"You'll learn, if you want. And you can be both."

* * *

Martha Kent is test driving new churches. Their first service at the latest started well, but now Cantrell is pale and her hands are trembling. She looks ready to cry or throw up as Martha guides her down the the pew and out of the church. Weekday service is sparsely attended and there are few people to get by.

"I have words in my head, mom. I don't understand them but I have words."

Martha leads her daughter away from the church doors. Someone whose name Martha can't remember sticks her head out and Martha waves her away. The woman nods and ducks back inside.

"_Kal-ro ma Kand... Er-tho mi zod-ro... Kal-ro ma Eded-ro..._"

Cantrell is trembling and her shaking is about as gentle as an unbalanced motor, and the last thing she needs a stranger putting a supportive hand on her shoulder.

"_Lor-ra ma sin-tha..._"

As she leads Cantrell to the most isolated corner she can find, Martha's arm is starting to hurt. She does not let go of her child.

"These are the words..." She starts to weep, blinking hard to keep the tears out of her eyes.

"Say what you need to, Cantrell."

Cantrell takes a shuddering breath. Martha expects Kryptonian, but the words come in English. "The light of, of Rao warms us. The bounty of Krypton nourishes us. Th-these are... These are the words... Of the people of... Kand... Children of the Host. We are the Children of the Host, one and many..."

The words are English, their meaning is utterly distant. Martha will decide later if what she feels now is awe or delight or terror. For now she wonders if her daughter is done speaking the words of an alien prayer.

She is not. She draws breath again. "These... are the words of the House of the Star, Children of the Sun, Children of Hope. We are the hopes of our father, we are the hopes of our mother."

The trembles slow. Cantrell looks stunned but no longer panicky. With her arm around Cantrell's shoulder, Martha leads her over to the car. "Let's get you home to rest."

Martha doesn't let go until Cantrell is settled in the car seat. She knows her arm and shoulder will be bruised. Cantrell buckles herself in. Martha watches her hands and notes the trembles have stopped. The colour is coming back to her face and whatever it was seems to have passed. By the time Martha is in her own seat and buckling in Cantrell looks almost well. A little stunned but no longer sick. Just as Martha starts the car Cantrell speaks again.

"These are the words of Star-Child, daughter of Great Star and star-wed Light of Waxing Moon, first child of the first son of the House of the Star. Hope is my shield."

* * *

There are two hatches under Ship's single-occupant seat. The forward one holds various recordings and archival 'books' of Kryptonian culture and history, personal recordings from Lara and Jor-El, clothes, baby toys, ten pounds of something called sunstone, and a personal letter. The rear hatch is off-limits.

In a chair outside of the basement workshop, Jonathan flips through a romance novel while keeping an eye on his daughter. She is arguing with Ship again. Cantrell mumbles in Kand-ma-Lumra and English, sometimes even drifts into a bit of Spanish, but most of the argument is telepathic. Brain-interfaces were a thing on Krypton, apparently. Mostly they seemed to have used it to control their fancier bits of technology.

Cantrell takes her hand off Ship and groans. She rolls her eyes in that dramatic teenaged way. "It still won't let me in," and then she huffs. "Ship says I'm Eldest of El, but it can't let me in until, I don't know if it's a religious thing or what, until I've finished something called the _tor-ku-asm_ meditations."

"Is that in your cultural textbooks?"

"I think so, yeah."

"Well," Jonathan turns his attention back to his book. "Time to do your homework."

Thinking again, he looks up from the book. "Do you know what's in that back hatch?"

"I think it's in the letter." Cantrell holds up what they've been calling 'the letter', which is a thin sheet of silver covered with red and black Kryptonian calligraphy. Cantrell has learned to sort through the contents of the letter by waving her hand above the sheet in seemingly random circles. She says the controls are mostly telepathic.

As a foundling Cantrell would wave her hands at the TV. She'd been utterly fascinated by the remote when Jonathan had shown it to her.

"Found it. It's, um, wait a minute..." Cantrell puts her hand back on Ship. She can read Kryptonian script with Ship's help, and it's easier if she's touching it. She frowns in concentration as she reads. "Okay, it's.. Oh wow. An actual disintegrator ray. Something called a scale corrector lens, which I don't even know what that does. And an, an unplace sender? What is all - Oh."

Cantrell puts the letter down. "Weapons. My parents sent weapons."

"At least they had the sense to kiddy-proof the gun safe." Jonathan Kent puts his book down and thinks for a second. "Didn't you say that sunstone stuff could pave a continent if you weren't careful with it?"

"Yeah."

"If that's the kind of thing they were willing to let you have without training, what kind of firepower are we talking about here?"

Cantrell thinks for a second. "The kind that can wait. I'll find out what those meditations are for first."

* * *

Cantrell cries a lot over the next couple of days. Her parents keep concerned eyes on her, but to Martha the tears seem healthy. A mix of grief and relief at finally knowing, she thinks.

According to Ship there was supposed to be someone to meet baby Kala on Earth. A cousin. Her lifeboat never arrived.

* * *

Kand fashions were not subtle and the tights and tunic are even more skin-hugging than expected. The tunic has some sort of swooped belt-thing built into it, because of course her birth-mother ran around with a shiny gold V pointing right to her crotch. The tunic seals to the tights with a couple of tugs on the golden belt, and they look like a single sealed bodysuit. Her mom looks her up and down. Martha's gaze is a bit skeptical. "That outfit is skin tight. How does it feel?"

_Insanely close. And was 'lift and separate' really a formal look on Krypton?_ "Surprisingly comfortable? And it's got a lot more support than I expected."

The tunic sleeves come halfway down her forearms and are sealed by gold and red gloves. The only gloves she has ever worn before were purely cosmetic, for work or weather. Cantrell flexs her fingers in the thin material. The next step is the leg wear, boots made of overlapping red straps with gold fasteners. Cantrell is sealed in textured blue latex and accessorized in red fabric and gold chrome. She feels ridiculous. At least it's not a loincloth or miniskirt, the look her cousin Kara favoured. Cantrell vows she will never ever be caught dead wearing Kandian fashions outside of her house.

Martha straightens the House sigil, passed down through generations of Eldest of House El. The sigil is bright in scarlet and gold, and Cantrell tries not to think about how much attention it draws right to her breasts.

It's not an S. It means _hope_ and the shield is hers by right. She is Jor-El's declared heir, Child of the House of El, Eldest and Mother. What does that mean, wonders Cantrell Kent.

Martha helps Cantrell attach the cape to the sigil and secures it at the shoulders. She pulls the outfit's red and gold hair elastic out out of her pocket and gently grooms Cantrell's wavy hair back. "It looks like Kand women usually wore their hair out of the way."

Her mom leads her over to the full-length mirror hanging on the closet door. Cantrell is fully dressed in the clothes passed down to her from her birth-family. "There," says Martha. "What do you think?"

_I look ridiculous._

_Spandex isn't this tight._

_I am never wearing this in public._

_I like the boots._

Her mom touches her hand to side of Cantrell's face. "You're almost the spitting image of your father, but you have your mother's cheekbones."

Cantrell grabs her mother's hand. She has her father's jaw and blue eyes and her mother's cheeks and thick hair. She starts to cry as she looks at herself in the mirror and sees Lara and Jor-El looking back.

* * *

Kand-ra. A person of the ancient confederation along Krypton's Great Kand River. A Kandian.

American. Kansan. A little bit Okie. But not White, not Latina, not Mixed. Not _Other_.

_Kandra._

* * *

Cantrell Joanne Kent, born in Varadar-Kryptonor, capital of Krypton. Heir to the House of El. Kala Jor-El, raised in the Flint Hills of Kansas, nowhere special of Earth. Rancher's daughter.

Last daughter of the House of El. Last daughter of Krypton. Only child of Jonathan and Martha Kent. Kandra-American.

Now what? Now who?

* * *

Rubbing her temples Cantrell comes upstairs into the nook. Martha thinks she looks tired, but not in any bad way. Like she's been working hard. Martha approves. Cantrell sits down at the table and mutters something in Kand-ma-Lumra to her mother.

"I caught 'haela'," Martha says. "But I thought that was a formal greeting. I'm making lunch, do you want any today?"

"Yes please. Half a plate."

"Glad to hear you're burning energy."

"Haelaela is a formal greeting, for family and friends, haela is polite, la is casual," Cantrell says. Her brow crinkles in thought. "'Mu laora taen gur sa' is super-formal. 'Sitaen' is like 'how are you?' But Kryptonians in general were pretty formal. Kands even more so. I don't think older kids were supposed to be too casual with their parents."

Jonathan comes in from the living room and leans on the wall, watching the conversation.

"Laela is babytalk," realizes Martha. She remembers her foundling girl tumbling around the house in long bouncing steps, calling ma-layla, ma-layla. "When we first found you I thought you must have been calling for someone."

"Kands sound respectful," Jonathan says as he reaches over to swipe away the long wave that curls in front of Cantrell's eyes. She got that cowlick from her birth-father. "Maybe you could learn something there."

Cantrell smirks. "Well, it seems like sometimes they could be a bit country too..." She bows once to each of her parents, and greets them in her mother-tongue.

"_Ma haela. Pa haela_."


	3. Cantrell And Lex

Working with satellite images and local maps Cantrell has found a few isolated backwoods and uninhabited areas to explore. Not more than a few though, since rural Delmarva is more densely populated than rural Kansas. In her pre-dawn explorations Cantrell has had to sneak around about a half dozen tiny towns and just as many little settlements that can barely be called villages. The farms are small and closely spaced, most of their houses and barns tiny compared to back home. People just don't need as much house when they can get to town so quickly. The largest structures are usually weekend homes with big garages and perfect lawns.

The soft noises of animals and traffic bounce off leaves and fade to a gentle whisper, and the humidity prisms the morning's ultraviolet light into a faint halo around everything. The dawn is a warm tingle under her skin. All the diffuse quiet helps her think. Mostly about Kala.

Cantrell is wearing a tank top, gym shorts, her army surplus boots, and has a hoody tied around her waist. If anyone asks she can tell them that she went for a run and it won't even be a lie. She just won't mention that she has been out since three am or how much ground she can cover in a few hours.

The fields and creekbeds of Delaware are green even late in the season, and Cantrell has to admit she likes the humidity in the air. There are creeks everywhere, echoing gently over rocks and curved beds, creating a soothing infrasonic hum. The soil always smells moist and the trees are still vivid this late into the season. Lots of birds and small animals too. Her hair is a bit hard to control though.

Now she is on the shoulder of a short two-lane bridge over a muddy creek, leaning over the railing to watch the shallow water flow. There is little traffic this morning, not really enough to be distracting, and Cantrell relaxes into the layered sounds of the creek. Water over water, over rocks and clay, and bird-calls bouncing off the surface, and the howl of tires on asphalt -

* * *

Alexi "Lex" Luthor is pissed off. He is pissed off at his father for dragging the family from Metropolis to Littlehovel, D(irt)E(verywhere), and he is pissed off that dad dropped him and mom and Lena here and then ran off on a business trip to Baltimore, leaving them to unpack everything themselves, and he is incandescent that the old man blew back into town last night with no warning and woke Lex up before sunrise to send him on an errand to Frederika, the town with a name that sounds like a cartoon granny.

"In case you forgot, dad, I've only got a learner's."

"No one's going to stop you. This is farm country, kids drive all the time. I know you like to drive, Alex. Just take the Audi and go."

Dad's not entirely wrong. Lex Luthor likes to drive. He likes machines in general, and he really likes the machines he makes because those work in ways his life doesn't. Right now he is plotting how to link three old computers and a set of CCD cameras into the car's driver-assist systems to build a full autopilot, trying to ignore the way his stomach is rumbling at the smell of fresh baked goods, and driving too fast because he is bored, hungry, and still angry at having to drive to Grannyville for pies.

Lex pointed out that he could wait for the tea shop on Main to open and get fresh pies in Littlehovel, but Lex's mom insisted that they were better at the bakery in Frederika. Then dad had jangled the keys, made some noises about how much Lex likes to drive, and Lex was getting bored and his parents obviously wanted him out of the house, so fine whatever, now Lex is approaching the bend before Carpenter Bridge and he realizes that the key to the autopilot's cluster of processors will be the ordinator/relay between the three units.

Lex visualizes the logic-flows between the processors, the time it will take impulses to travel to the ordinator to be sorted, prioritized, and sent on or dropped, and then he notices that he has the Audi's gas pedal floored, that he is coming up on the bridge faster than he expected, and that he is dangerously far on the right-hand shoulder and he is going to hit the guard rail hard. He pulls his foot off the accelerator and twists the wheel hard left, too hard and too far, and now he is barely on two wheels heading fast for the left of the bridge and there is a girl standing directly in front of the guard rail that he is going to smash through.

Just before he hits the dark-haired girl he realizes that the ordinator  
**THUNK**.  
The white car hits Cantrell and she has just an instant to see a boy about her age behind the wheel. His face is pale under a mop of red curls and his green eyes are wide in fear and then he vanishes behind the airbag and Cantrell is tumbling.

The blow catches Cantrell by surprise and for an instant she is stunned as she watches earth and sky wheel around. She hits the cold water hard enough to shock her again. The water is now filthy with mud churned up from its shallow bottom, and Cantrell sinks deep enough below the surface that up is just a dim glimmer in ultraviolet.

She decides that she is not hurt, just surprised, but the same probably can't be said of the boy in the car. The creek is shallow enough for her to stand in, so she does. Her head and shoulders are above the water and she can see the bottom of the car. She briefly risks looking through it with a broad-spectrum burst from her eyes and sees no breaks or internal bleeding in the boy but he is clearly stunned and pushing feebly against the airbag. The windshield is gone and his head is underwater. Cantrell wades over too quickly and pulls the door open with more than human strength. At least one other car has stopped on the bridge and Cantrell can hear shouting, but she decides the risk is worth it.

The creek is maybe fifty feet across and this lunatic has managed to dump them both right in the middle of it. If the boy turns out to be drunk or high, Cantrell decides she will throw him back in.

There's a break in the bushes that line the creek bank and Cantrell hauls the boy over there. He is not unconscious but he is not able to stand without help. His body spasms as he gags up water, and Cantrell checks his pupils before lowering him to the ground. They are evenly dilated, and what little of the irises she can see around them is leaf-green. Another brief glimpse with 'x-ray vision' shows that his heart is too fast but strong, even as he retches up muddy water and phlegm.

In a brief break in his coughing and gagging he manages to gasp out a few words. "I _hit_ you?"

"Nah, but you came really close. I really thought you were going to." Cantrell has seen him around town, usually with a toddler who shares his bright hair colour, but he never seems to talk to anyone.

"Hi. Cantrell Kent. You're going to be okay."

* * *

She drags Lex out of the mud and carries him to safety. Lex says something stupid and the girl says something reassuring. He retches up more water and pukes from the strain. She rubs his back and introduces herself as she waits for him to recover. He needs a minute before he can speak again.

"Lex Luthor. Thank you. For helping." He is still coughing and hates how weak he sounds. Stupid. He sounds stupid. Sprawling on all fours, spewing water and saying stupid shit. He pushes himself to his feet and tries not to shake. He can't stop shaking. It takes him a few tries to stand on his own, and he wobbles. Lex glances down at the girl and notices her clothes are soaked, glances back to her baby blue eyes and notices she's a bit younger than him, and then glances back down and realizes that he's staring.

She is as tall as him and built like an underwear model, and Lex is angry at himself for staring. She just saved his life and he's acting like a hormone-addled lout. He's smarter than his sex-obsessed so-called peers, and he should be above noticing that her white shirt and bra are -

"Sorry," he mutters, then looks out at the bottom of the wrecked car. "Shit. Dad is going to kill me."

He's hit with another series of wracking coughs. Lex collapses back to his knees.

* * *

Cantrell gives Lex Luthor this one, because he is scared and shocky and clearly not in full control of himself, but if he stares at her like that again there will be trouble.

Another driver calls 911 as Cantrell helps Lex up the bank. He is clearly embarrassed that he needs help, and he seems embarrassed to have been staring earlier, and keeps pulling away from her as she supports him. He's coughing and shaking too much to really fight though. The driver has an emergency kit in her car trunk and throws blankets over the kids when they climb back to the road. Cantrell speaks to the 911 operator and assures him that she will be okay, "But Lex needs an ambulance. He got a lot of water."

She hands the phone to Lex, and he starts to argue with the operator. He's fine, he doesn't need help, everything is under control. He breaks into a retching fit as he argues. Cantrell gently touches the huge bruise developing across his face and he yelps into the phone. "You were under water for a long time, and you're lucky the airbag didn't break your nose or jaw. Go to the hospital and get your lungs checked. And get checked for a concussion."

Lex stares at her for a second. Then he admits to the operator that he could maybe use an ambulance, which is good because Cantrell can hear it approaching the Mennonite church near Canterbury Road just over a mile away. "I'm probably not hurt," Lex says in a weak voice. "So there's no need to tell my parents about this."

_Sorry kid_, Cantrell hears the operator say, and he sounds almost amused, _I've got a checklist here that says I do_. Lex tries to swear, retches up more water and bile, and gives the moist phone back to their rescuer. He looks at Cantrell and it seems like he's about to say something but then the ambulance comes up.

* * *

As they check his blood oxygen again the paramedic tells Lex that Memorial Hospital in the Old Purchase specializes in old people and has the best pneumonia, bronchitis, and emphysema clinic in the region. Cantrell walks out of the ambulance, Lex is wheeled out on a stretcher with an oxygen mask over his face. Two people who must be Cantrell's parents are right there as the ambulance pulls up. They embrace Cantrell immediately. Lex is pissed off by his reaction to this. He has a good family. His mother has told him so. There's nothing wrong with his family that he should envy anyone else's.

"Cantrell, oh my God we were so worried."

"Everything's fine mom. Lex got pretty shaken up though."

Cantrell doesn't look like either of them, but the man who comes over to Lex has the same warmth in his eyes as his daughter. While the ambulance personnel are arranging Lex's tubes he puts a firm hand on Lex's shoulder and looks him in the eyes. His grip is steady and warm. He says _Good to see you're still with us_ like he's known Lex all his life.

Lex gives a shaky thumbs-up. Actually he's exhausted and cold and he fell down as soon as the adrenaline burnt out, but he doesn't want to worry this stranger. The concern in Mr Kent's voice is so genuine that Lex wants to stay here. He knows the concern will vanish as soon as the Kents find out who nearly killed their child, and is surprised to find that the thought hurts.

"Jonathan, let them do their job. We'll check on Lex when they're sure he's all right."

In the hospital his father isn't there. He has a thing at work. Lex's mother is there charming the police and she says "Alex, I'm so glad you're all right. We'll talk when the doctors are done with you."

* * *

Lex's official diagnosis is ADHD comordid to ODD and a problematic relationship with his parents. The last Metropolis cop who had to deal with Lex translated that to mean that the kid has too much energy to focus unless something really grabs his attention, that he has an attitude problem regarding authority figures, and that his parents are in denial about how just not-normal their son is.

The kid is clearly too smart for his own good, but the cop figures that's a matter for whatever institution he ends up in.

The cop has seen worse. He doesn't think Lex Luthor will be a serious problem for anyone.

* * *

The Luthors visit early on the first day. Jules and Arlene make the conventional noises of concern and remind their son how much a private room costs. Lena hugs her big brother and almost cries until Lex assures her he will be okay. Then Jules and Arlene take his sister away.

The Kents come to visit Lex in the hospital the next day. Cantrell has a pretty redhead in tow and Lex actually feels his heart break a little when he sees them holding hands. Lex doesn't know much about clothes or relationships but even he can tell that Cantrell's blue and green plaid shirt matches the redhead's minidress and that he's out of the running.

"Hi Lex, we brought cookies!" Cantrell and her parents have brought more than cookies. They have brought cheeses and meats and crackers and fruit. Oh, and ham and cheese sandwiches with cucumber, tomato, and choice of hot mustard or homemade mayo. Lex does not mention that his family is very non-observant but still technically Jewish. The cute short girl Lana has brought Pocky and soft candies in the shape of cats. No one can remember who brought the candied apple slices but there are candied apple slices with dipping cups of frosting.

"We called ahead and asked if there were any foods we couldn't bring," Cantrell says. She leans over Lex and frowns. "You look a lot better. You were in rough shape when I pulled you out."

Lex has seen a mirror and knows what he looks like. His face is all one solid bruise with an imprint of the airbag running through it, and his nose is so swollen it should be on the face of a particularly horrific clown. Lying in bed he has monitor clipped to his ear, another clipped to his finger, and tubes in his nose. An IV line feeds antibiotics into his system. If this is a lot better then yesterday he must've looked like something puked up behind a dumpster.

Lex apologizes for almost killing Cantrell. "I was sure I hit you. I was sure."

"So was I," Cantrell says. "And then your transmission went - " She waves a hand by her nose and shivers. "Whoosh."

"I'm so sorry for almost hitting her," Lex says to Cantrell's parents. Her father shakes his head.

"You got lucky, and the only person you hurt was yourself. Even if you're not worried about yourself, next time think about the other person."

"That's... " He bites off the argument. Anyway, it's not a bad way of looking at it. It's better than what his parents said. "That's a good way of looking at it."

"Your parents came by our place yesterday," Martha says. "Your little sister is adorable."

"Yeah, she totally is."

"Do you understand how upset she will be if you seriously hurt yourself?"

Lex realizes he is gaping at Mrs Kent. He closes his mouth and looks at Mr Kent, whose face is utterly bland. He looks at Cantrell, who shrugs.

"I - " Lex really wants to argue with the old people who are clearly telling him what to do with his life. But they aren't wrong, and how the hell do you argue with that? Lex is too tired to think of a way right now. "I'll be careful."

Mrs Kent nods. The older Kents make noises about wanting coffee from the Jitters downstairs and use that as an excuse to leave.

They leave with Lex still staring at them. He turns to Cantrell to ask if her parents are always like that. Cantrell hands him meat and pickles on a plastic skewer. "You should eat. I bet you don't have a lot of energy right now."

"Thanks." Lex takes the skewer and starts eating. Are the Kents weird? Are they normal? Are normal families like this? "These cold cuts are good."

"I got them at the place next to Mike's Burgers. Otto's Meats. You been?"

"Otto's, no. Mike's is good. I had their triple chili and egger cheeseburger two days ago, and I think I'm still full."

The three start snacking and talking about places in Smallville. Lex's family is from Bakerline in Metropolis and this is the first chance he has had to talk to someone his age in the week since his parents moved here. "The company dad works for is a Dayton NewTech subsidiary. They bought a start-up here, and dad transferred to run the public relations department. Mom's in real estate."

They'll all be starting at Smallville High School next Tuesday. They have at least a few classes together, and Lex and Cantrell are both interested in the Tech Club. Lana might be interested in the Theatre Club.

Cantrell is fourteen and a year advanced in school. Lex is sixteen and was held back a year after making some improvements to a teacher's car. Technically he should have asked first, but she was a real bitch to Lex. And anyway, who doesn't want an extra hundred and fifty horsepower?

Lana and Cantrell start arguing over the candies Lana brought.

"Lana, you brought those for Lex." The taller girl holds the box of jelly-cats above her head. Lana does not jump for the candies. She slithers up Cantrell like a snake climbing a tree.

"Lana."

"I just want _one!_" She actually wriggles up Cantrell high enough to reach the candies. Locking herself in place with her legs around Cantrell, Lana opens the box and grabs a candy. She looks over at Lex. "Would you like one too?"

"I'm good," Lex mumbles around a mouthfull of turkey salami. Lana isn't very tall but she has nice legs in a short dress and this is doing a lot to get Lex over his minor case of heartbreak.

Cantrell looks over to Lex like a weary parent explaining a rambunctious child. "She gets like this sometimes."

Lana wriggles down Cantrell, pops the candy in her mouth, and _mmm_s at her girlfriend. She licks her lips while adjusting her clothes. Lex figures any minute now the hidden camera will be revealed and a studio exec will explain that he's trapped in a reality tv show. A really pervy one.

Lana puts her hands on her hips and narrows her eyes at Lex. Lex pretends to be interested in the cold cuts. "I hear _you_ don't know how to keep your _eyes_ to yourself."

"Lana. We talked about this."

"I'm really sorry," Lex says. The show is apparently Lana's way of marking her turf.

"How long have you two been going out?" Lex asks.

Cantrell flicks her gaze over to Lana. The redhead draws in a breath through her nose. "Excuse me, we are _not_ 'going out'." She crosses her arms across her chest. The freezing glare she fixes on Lex is murderous. "I am _straight_."

Cantrell's face is completely bland. "Yes."

"Yeah, okay. Sorry," Lex says.

Lana shuffles her feet and looks back and forth between them. "Can_trell_, I am."

"I know."

Lana clings to Cantrell and looks up at the taller girl. Her expression is really intense. "We're _friends_, right?"

Cantrell says yes and Lana shimmies and makes a high-pitched noise of joy. She rests her head against Cantrell's shoulder. Cantrell blushes and clearly struggles to hide a smirk.

Lex has a diagnosis so he figures he knows crazy when he sees it.

The older Kents come back to the room with their coffees. Lana looks up from her not-girlfriend's chest at her not-girlfriend's parents. "_Martha_, Cantrell and I are friends, right?"

"You're very friendly, Lana."

Lana actually sticks out her tongue at Lex. Then she rests her head against Cantrell's shoulder again. Cantrell pats her not-girlfriend's head.

Mr Kent looks at Lex, shrugs in the same way his daughter did earlier, and points at the food. "Mind if I have some of those pears, son?"

Smallville might actually be okay.


	4. Cantrell And Pete

Peter Joseph Ross is known as Peter only to his parents and grandparents, and as Pete to everyone else. His parents have moved to Smallville partly to follow his father's work as a project manager for Dayton NewTech, but mostly because his mother had been worried that Peter was too comfortable and not pushing himself in their old neighbourhood. Peter's father had come to see her point, and when the opportunity came to relocate to the new research centre in Delaware he jumped at it. They explain to Peter that they want him to see outside of his affluent life and they think it would be a good idea if he were a little more hungry in his outlook.

Pete is not convinced. Smallville is less White and rural than Pete expected and he likes what he sees of the school's drama club but to a Baltimore kid, Smallville is a little too well named. The place is dead. His parents have lost their minds, Pete does not need to be here. He has always finished his schoolwork on time - well, mostly always - participated in drama club, volunteered once a week through school to tutor younger kids, and thinks he was working hard enough back home thank you.

His parents have lost it. Pete wonders if they're old enough to be senile.

Two days to go until school starts and Pete hasn't really met anyone other than Caleb and Trevor. Nothing wrong with either of them but Pete knew lots of people back home and sort of knowing two brothers doesn't make up for not being able to talk to any of his friends.

When the tall White girl he asks for directions says "Oh, sorry. I'm new here too. But we can ask my friends" Pete follows her. It never hurts to meet new people.

The tall girl is just short of Pete's height and her name is Cantrell, and Pete thinks she must have escaped from a country music video. Her friends are a short redheaded White girl and a short tawny-beige girl with amber-gold hair, and under normal circumstances Pete would be very happy to meet them but these are not normal girls.

Pete Ross is still not in the hat store Cal and Trevor told him about. Pete is in an actual honest-to-God soda shop drinking a ginger ale with his three new friend-like people. He's not sure what to make of them, in part because there are four sides to the table but only three sides are occupied.

The redhead Lana is sitting on the same side of the table as Cantrell. Cantrell has a raspberry soda float with blue sprinkles while Lana has a strawberry water ice. They're wearing matching outfits and their chairs are pushed right up against each other. Lana runs a knife-sharp fingernail along the artery in Cantrell's neck and hums softly. Cantrell turns a bit pink.

Chloe, the tawny-beige girl, puts down her brown cow float and looks at Pete with a very serious expression on her face. "Completely heterosexual behaviour," she says.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Lana, don't take the bait. And that was kinda mean, Chloe."

"It was a joke, Cantrell. Pete thought it was funny, right?"

Pete apologizes for not hearing the joke and asks the girls what they're doing today.

What they're all doing today is going to the record store, Pete included. Somehow Smallville supports an actual vinyl shop. Between the soda shop and the record shop there's a two block area of fake-vintage stores. The girls use it as a shortcut without looking at any of the stores.

"These shops are for the _tourists_," Lana says. Then she notices Cantrell looking at a window display of boots. "They have _genuine_ vintage at the second-hand shop. Don't pay tourist prices."

"Yeah," Chloe says. "These places are pretty scammy. Pete, if you need something nice ask us, okay? Don't come to these shops."

Tam's Records has a few signs on its wall, a couple of poster displays, and rows and rows of plywood display stands full of albums. Most of the people in Tam's look like college students. Pete's not big into vinyl but one of his friends back home is, and the prices here look about the same as in Baltimore.

Lana and Cantrell are not arguing about a friend, it's just an intense conversation. They're wearing matching plaid because they have just come from visiting this friend in the hospital. Apparently he nearly killed Cantrell. When Cantrell describes the accident Lana's eyes narrow to a lethal glare. Pete hopes this Lex guy has police protection.

"I've never met him," Chloe says.

"He's new in Smallville," Cantrell says. "He's from Metropolis. He said his dad works for Dayton NewTech, so I guess they moved here for work."

"I think I heard of his dad," Pete says. "My dad works for Dayton too. He's a project manager. I think Mr Luthor is a PR guy."

Cantrell launches into an enthusiatic description of 3d printing devices, including a detailed rundown of Blue Hen's prototypes. When she starts breaking down comparisons between its direct metal laser sintering technologies versus the competition she sounds more like an industrial reporter than a teen.

"You're interested in tech?" Chloe asks.

"Yeah. I competed in the state robotics competitions back home. How about you, Pete?"

"I'm not much of a gearhead," Pete says. "I do a little bit of boxing, but mostly I like theatre work."

Chloe turns to Cantrell and leans close. "Do you follow defence tech-news at all? Have you heard about Ferris Aerospace's new defence contracts? Rumour is they're working on a secret new jet engine."

"It's not that secret. One of dad's cousins works at their plant in Wichita. They're trying to boost jet performance with ionocraft technology, sort of give air intake a boost by using electrostatic propulsion. It won't work, but Ferris is getting DoD money so that means they're hiring a few extra people."

"So what's an ionocraft, and why do you think it wouldn't work?"

"Um, really simply, take a flat piece of metal or just a wire with edges. Give one edge a positive electrical charge, the other a negative charge. The positive edge ionizes the air - gives it an electrical charge - and the charged air flows towards the negative charge. So you get a bit of thrust. Ferris's design rings the jet intake with ion-wind grids, to try and suck in more air. But ionocraft have a really high voltage, so they attract lightning strikes. Like, all the lightning strikes. And they need power, wiring, insulation, so that's all extra weight. And you're forcing charged air down the jet intake, so that's not great for the engine."

"So you think Ferris's big plan is to get the DoD to pay for a project a high school student knows won't work?"

"I asked my dad why they were doing it. He said America's got more money than brains."

Lana literally drags Cantrell out of the record store. The conversation moves out to the street, with Chloe and Cantrell arguing about the difference between a secret R&D program and a crackpot R&D scam.

Pete and Lana look at each other. "Smallville High has a good theatre club," she says.

"I heard. I'm going to join. I used to do costuming and sets back at my old school."

"I want to do costuming too."

"That's right," Cantrell says. "Pete, do you do cosplay? Lana does sometimes. Last year she went to Comic-Con as Lily from Zombieland Saga. It was a really good costume."

"I went as Goku." Pete grabs his phone and starts flipping through pictures.

"I only wore the costume for one day," Lana says. "I bought a bad wig, and it got _sweaty_ and started falling apart after a couple of hours. Goku's a good costume. It's simple to make and lots of people recognize it."

Lana still has a couple of pictures on her phone. She and Pete compare costumes with Cantrell and Chloe looking over their shoulders. Pete thinks Lana looks good in her costume.

"I like the skirt," Cantrell says.

"It's short," Chloe points out. "Pete, do you work out?"

"I box. I don't do serious sparring, 'cause I don't need a concussion, but it's good exercise."

"Well, it's working for you. You look like you don't even need those CIA super-steroids."

CIA steroids? What? "Uh, thanks."

"So you just moved in, or have you been here a while?"

"Last week, I guess about a week and a half. They're changing up management at Blue Hen, so dad's part of that."

"What does your mom do?"

"She's a lawyer. She's still working on her state licence for Delaware though."

"So you're kind of hitting the ground running, huh? Here a week and then you start school? Do you know anyone else in town?"

"I hang out with Caleb and Trev Robinson. They're my friends here, I guess. I haven't had time to meet a lot of other kids."

"I sort of know them. They went to Swan Middle School, right? Are they brothers?"

"Cousins, but they live right next door to each other."

"Do you live near them?"

"No. I live in downtown, uh, the Old Purchase. On Grove Street, between Washington and Jefferson."

Lana and Cantrell have been deep in their own conversation, heads close together. Lana looks up when Pete mentions Grove Street. "Oh, that's only a block up from where Cantrell and I live. Next door to each other. Cantrell just moved in next door. You live across the street from my uncle and aunt."

"You're due north of us," Cantrell says. "I've only been down that part of Grove a couple of times though."

"There's not much to see," Pete says. "Just some townhouses."

"Oh, is that those old brick ones?" Chloe asks. "Those are really nice. And you're close to everything. My family lives way out in North Smallville, in Hopkins Branch."

"I still don't know where anything is," Cantrell says. "Lana's been showing me around, but I've only been here a couple of weeks. You know, I miss the ranch and my friends, but I really like Smallville. There's a lot to do."

"Only if you grew up on a farm," Chloe says. "I think it's kind of boring. I wish I lived somewhere interesting, like Metropolis or Baltimore."

"I like Baltimore," Pete says. "But I'm not sure it's much like Metropolis. It's what, maybe a tenth the size?"

"Still cooler than Smallville."

"Wilmington is cooler than Smallville. Central City is cooler than Smallville."

"I want to move to Gotham," Lana announces. "They've got the _best_ fashion and design industry in the country."

"I wouldn't call making dresses that are designed to be thrown away in a week an 'industry'," Chloe says.

"The fashion industry generates over two hundred billion dollars in the US alone. Maybe you should take that _seriously_."

"Two hundred billion spent on clothes nobody needs."

"That top you're wearing is from the Delores Winters Collection. Are you going to take it off, since you don't _need_ it?"

Pete's just following along with nothing better to do, but he's about to interrupt and ask where they're going when they finally get there. All on Columbia between Oak and Grove there's a second-hand store, a place called Odds 'n' Ends, and a Salvation Army store. Lana looks like a devout aunty entering church.

"_This_ is where you shop," she says.

"I guess it's a little better than throwaway stuff," Chloe says. "It's still just clothes though."

"Lana," Cantrell cuts in just as Lana opens her mouth. "You're going to get in trouble if you keep letting people get under your skin."

"I'm _sorry_, Cantrell. I'll be good."

There is some seriously weird stuff going on here, but Pete figures none of it is his business.

The second-hand place is mostly military surplus. Cantrell buys a pair of boots. Lana picks up a blouse at the Salvation Army store and a full-length mens wool winter jacket that she announces she's going to turn into a suit. Pete finds a couple of shirts and an actual vintage fedora for thirty bucks total. Chloe buys three tops, a pair of shoes, and a skirt. She won't look Lana in the eye.

Pete tells Chloe he thinks the gold blouse will look good on her. Chloe's smile beams and she stutters as she says thanks. Pete is confused. He doesn't think it was that big of a compliment.

Chloe wants candy. Pete follows along through the tourist area again, past too many places selling engraved things.

The candy store is between the gift shop and the bakery on Peachtree Street. As soon as they're in the door Cantrell heads straight for the clerk with a plate of samples. Pete is checking out the new stock - how does a town this small get so much in from Korea? - while Chloe and Lana argue about the carbon footprint of importing all this stuff. Cantrell puts her fists on her hips and scowls firmly at Lana.

"Lana, be good. Don't make me talk to you about this when we get home."

This is Pete's life now. He's an extra in the LGBTQ version of an Archie comic. It is Pete's role to provide background commentary to wacky hijinks. Following that role he is hanging out in a candy shop with three hot girls, at least two of whom are definitely not girlfriend material. And right now Cantrell Kent has a bit of chocolate filling on the corner of her mouth, which Pete is sure she left there on purpose, and Pete knows exactly what is about to happen so he just pretends not to notice as Lana licks the sweet smudge off like a cat and then smirks. Cantrell turns a deep pink.

"Lana, behave."

Chloe rolls her eyes and says "It doesn't count as a closet if you don't close the door."

Lana moves at Chloe but Cantrell grabs Lana with one arm around her waist and mutters _we will talk about this later_. Pete asks Chloe if she knows whether plum candies are any good.

Smallville is just weird.

* * *

"How do you like Smallville so far, Peter?"

"It's okay I guess. I dunno. There's not a lot to do here."


End file.
